


And a Sixpence in His Shoe

by Actually_Crowley



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley Was Raphael Before He Fell (Good Omens), Drama, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Murphy's Law, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Wedding Planning, wedding shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-09-25 00:30:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20367655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Actually_Crowley/pseuds/Actually_Crowley
Summary: After finally giving in to their feelings for one another, Aziraphale and Crowley make the decision to get married, so they can share a bit of their joy with their very human friends who won't be around forever.  It should be a simple formality, but everything goes sideways when Aziraphale adds an unexpected name to the guest list.





	1. Something Old

In the New Beginning, there was an angel and a demon, fresh from each other’s respective sides and fresh from wearing one another’s faces. They had dined into the dark hours of the evening, and sat upon their bench and talked into the wee hours of the morning after that. They could have gone for days, talking, beneath the stars, and then the clouds, and then the stars again.

But they didn’t. The angel had stared too long into the demon’s eyes, and the demon had fled from his gaze. He had left the bench with a soft-spoken, parting word, and escaped the way he always did. The angel had stood slowly with a sigh and made his way back to his bookshop. Everything had gone back to the way it always had been.

Aziraphale didn’t know why it bothered him so much that it had.

This was the best case scenario for both of them. Crowley was off the hook with Hell, now able to roam freely and cause only his favourite kind of chaos, and Aziraphale was no longer under the pressing, watchful eye of Heaven. He was free to perform any number of miracles he saw fit to protect the humans, and nobody would be checking in to tell him he couldn’t. This was a great time to exist, and yet, there was a heavy weight in the air.

It never stopped being heavy either. They’d be at the park, or the Ritz, or even now in some new places, like the theatre or some fair with their new friends (or rather humans who have gone ahead and decided to invite them to various things because that’s just what one does when you save the world together apparently), but the weight of the air around them was almost too much for Aziraphale to breathe.

It all came from Crowley. Hanging like a warning or an omen that something was wrong. Crowley barely met his eyes anymore, and Aziraphale found himself wondering if that was how it always was, and perhaps he had just never noticed. He had never noticed because he spent those long millennia avoiding Crowley’s ever-present stare, as if looking back would hypnotize him, draw him in until he was too far gone to realize that he was falling into them.

Now all Aziraphale wanted to do was dive into that golden gaze and never, ever come out of it. He’d known about his feelings, actively, for less than a century, but he’d never pursued. Never risked his place in Heaven. Never once thought either of them would be safe if those feelings were known. Now Aziraphale wanted to explore them, but Crowley was… running away. He was there, but he was so far. Could it be that Aziraphale’s attempts at expressing his affection were viewed as nuisance? Could it be Crowley was growing bored of him? There was no danger to their meetings now, perhaps the thrill was gone?

Aziraphale was by himself at the Ritz, two glasses of wine upon the table expectantly (one having been drained multiple times), and the feeling was like wading through molasses. They’d made plans for dinner. Really, Aziraphale had mentioned that they ought to, it had been a while, and Crowley had made a noncommittal noise in response that affirmed the decision. It felt like a chore. It felt like Crowley needed eggs or a gallon of milk, and Aziraphale had reminded him. The bad feeling settled deeper when Crowley asked that Aziraphale get to the restaurant himself.

It was now seeded deeply in his chest as he checked his watch for the third time. Crowley was twenty minutes late. Aziraphale tried to tell himself that twenty minutes was absolutely _ nothing _ against the amount of time they’d known each other and even the amount of times either of them had been late to meetings before, but somehow this one had seemed important. This felt like something final was happening, and his heart was sinking like a brick. Crowley was pulling away from him just as soon as Aziraphale realized how much he wanted to get closer.

Something was over. Aziraphale just didn’t know what.

Outside, a storm was brewing. Rain was hitting the windows and lightning was bringing flashes of daylight to the night sky. Aziraphale knew it was his fault, but he’d either shoved his internal conflict out there, or he had himself a good cry alone at his usual table in the Ritz. And the latter was not about to happen, ever, if he could avoid it.

The sound of the rain coming down grew louder as the door of the establishment was opened and a drowned rat hurried inside. Aziraphale turned to the noise and found that it was, finally, _ his _ rat that had arrived.

Outside, the storm grew harder. The absence of Crowley had, until right this second, meant that whatever bad was coming had been delayed. Now he was here, and so was _ it. _ Aziraphale held his breath as he watched Crowley (who seemed rather frazzled) gesture vaguely to their table and get into a small argument over whether or not to allow the host to take his soaking coat. He watched Crowley concede, snap the rest of himself dry, and stroll over to the table in a manner that didn’t even hint at how much of a mess he’d seemed when he came in.

“Sorry about that. Lost track of uh, of time,” Crowley said, in a tone of voice and a slow process that told Aziraphale one very important thing-- _ A lie. _ Aziraphale’s insides seized as Crowley continued. “And then this storm out of bloody _ nowhere--” _

“If you didn’t want to come, you ought to have just said.” Aziraphale, already a few glasses of wine in, tapped the one that he’d had sitting for Crowley. “Merlot. I know you like the reds.”

Crowley turned to him, quite possibly faster than he’d meant to, and stared. Aziraphale glanced into his wine. He must have sounded as hurt as he felt. The demon ignored the wine and kept on staring. “...I did want to come, Aziraphale. I’m here, aren’t I?”

Aziraphale could still feel the staring. Why was he doing it _ now _ of all times? Just when Aziraphale had gotten used to that elusive gaze hiding from him and focusing on anything but his face? The angel huffed and polished off the last of his wine. “You’re twenty-seven minutes late,” He said simply.

Crowley made an indignant noise. _ “Twenty-sev-- _ Angel, I told you I lost track of time!”

“We have nothing else going on.”

“Angel--”

“Heaven and Hell have been off our backs for weeks.”

“Yes, and--”

“Are you upset with me?” Aziraphale asked, after a sharp intake of breath that could possibly have been mistaken (or understood precisely) as a sob. He knew he looked a wreck, and the alcohol was still humming in his system. He really ought to have sobered up before Crowley sat down, but he didn’t want to face what was absolutely going to be some form of rejection while sober.

Crowley had stared so long and hard that his sunglasses had slid down his thin nose and revealed his wide, startled eyes. Those same eyes squeezed shut against the confusion. _ “What!?” _ He placed his hand on the table and stared at him again. “Of course I’m not! What on Earth gave you _ that _ idea?”

“You’ve been distant! You’ve been colder to me than usual, and I--” Aziraphale felt his eyes threatening to bubble over. “...My dear, have I done something wrong?”

“No! Absolutely not-- Fuck, this is--” Crowley looked down and sat back in his chair. He huffed and snatched his wine off the table and nearly chugged the glass. Then he patted his pants pockets and cursed again. _ “Shit--” _

“More wine, sirs?” Asked the server who’d returned with the bottle.

Crowley didn’t even look at her and raised his hand. “No, I need my coat.”

Aziraphale flinched visibly. “Are you _ leaving?” _

_ “No, _ I’m not-- coat _ please!” _ He hissed as the server nodded and hurried away. As soon as she was gone, Crowley turned fully in his chair and faced Aziraphale. “Angel, I need you to listen to me right now, okay? I’m not going anywhere, and I want to be here. I don’t know what’s gotten into your head, but get it out.”

Aziraphale sniffled, hands wringing in his lap. “I’m _ sorry, _ Crowley, it’s just that you’ve seemed so far away as of late, and it feels like--... like just when I can find my way to you, you’re pulling away from me.”

Crowley huffed in frustration. “Where the _ bloody hell is my coat!?” _ Before anybody at all could respond, Crowley slammed his hands on the table and all sound stopped. No rain, no patrons, no music. He’d frozen time in the loudest way possible and stood so fast his chair nearly toppled over. He gestured to the wine. “Sober up, angel.”

“Crowley--”

_ “Sober, now.” _ And with that, Crowley marched back toward the door.

Aziraphale really didn’t want to let go of the only wall he had between him and his own emotions, and him and his awareness of Crowley’s incoming wrath. Or whatever he was about to unleash. Still, it would be an insult at this point to not do as he was asked. He forced the intoxication out of his system and looked to the door as Crowley was searching through the pockets of his coat, which was hanging from the frozen server’s grasp.

After a moment, Crowley returned from the coat and sat back down at the table. “Are you sober?”

Aziraphale felt a measure of shame. “Yes, I--”

“Not a drop?”

“Not one.”

Crowley nodded. He opened his mouth, and nothing else came out. Then he sighed and turned to Aziraphale’s now miraculously full glass of wine, snatching it up and draining it as well.

“Crowley!” The angel chided. “That’s hardly fair!”

“It is completely fair!” Crowley set the glass down and wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. “I need you sober so I know you hear me, but I need to be inebriated to even… even _ say _ it…”

Aziraphale inhaled carefully through his nose and closed his eyes. “Is this bad news, my dear…?”

_ “God, _ I hope not. Shut up and _ lisssten please.” _ Crowley said, twisting his chair to face him. “I lied to you, all right? I was late because I lost--… sssomething.”

Aziraphale opened his eyes and turned his gaze slowly to the demon. “...Why didn’t you just say--?”

“It’s _ difficult, _ angel! It was an old thing, I had it-- I had it in the car before, and I’d forgotten about the bloody thing until after everything was over. But it wasn’t in the car anymore. I’d lost it!” Crowley huffed and reached up, yanking his sunglasses off and gripping the bridge of his nose. “I thought maybe Adam didn’t know about it, and that was why, but I’ve been looking for a month.”

Aziraphale felt terrible. Crowley hadn’t been distant for a month, he’d been _ distracted _ for a month. And Aziraphale’s mind had gone to the worst case scenario without so much as a single piece of hard evidence to prove it. “My dear boy, I’m so sorry, I--” He shifted in his chair and faced Crowley better. “What was it you’ve lost?”

“My last star.” Crowley hissed and turned to the table, reaching for his glass which was miraculously filling with wine again. “I need another drink.”

Aziraphale’s arm flew out and stopped him, tugging his trembling hand between them and holding on tight. “Crowley,” He started, fingers of both his hands curling under Crowley’s palm. He let his thumbs rub into the back of the demon’s hand, encouraging him on. “Please.”

Crowley pursed his lips, his golden gaze ducking out of Aziraphale’s blue. “...After I fell, just after Eden, I-- I tried to make a star. Like old times, just to prove to myself that I could.” He inhaled slowly. “It was so small. I couldn’t focus on the love like before, and it was so hard to pull out of me, but I did it. But it was too small to hold together so I put it in a stone. Made it wearable. Kept the damn thing with me for so long, and then left it in the glovebox for safe keeping because it just wasn’t safe to have it anywhere near me when I had to deal with Hell.”

Aziraphale squeezed that hand. “In the car,” He whispered, hoping his eyes carried his sympathy. “When it burned up?”

“Exactly when. But it had been in that glovebox since I got the damn car, hidden beneath sunglasses and collectible coins and those little sugared candies you like.” Crowley shrugged. “I didn’t think about it until after the trials. And it was gone. Candies were there, sunglasses, coins, but no star.”

“Crowley…”

“I’ve looked all month, and it’s been nowhere it made sense for it to be.”

Aziraphale bit his lip. “That’s awful. I’m so sorry, I--...” The shame was overwhelming. “All this time, and you were distant because you lost something precious, and I went and made it about me.” He let his gaze drop to their clasped hands. Then, he moved to pull away.

That hand held his tight and refused to let go. Crowley snorted and shook his head. “It _ is _ about you, angel,” He said, as if he was speaking the most obvious truth in the world.

Aziraphale blinked and took in Crowley’s face again. “What?”

Crowley ignored the question. “I’d given up. The star was gone, there was no way I could make another, and I had to try and buck up for you and get to dinner. Took this coat out of the wardrobe, and guess what I found in the pocket?” Crowley’s free hand slid into view.

Aziraphale couldn’t breathe. Carefully held between his fingers was a ring. The metal seemed to have been crafted centuries ago, but the stone, less than a centimeter wide, felt ancient. And it truly was, if Crowley’s story was to be believed. “Oh, _ Crowley,” _ Aziraphale only let go of Crowley’s hand to reach for the ring, lifting it from that soft grasp. He turned it in his fingers and watched the red light within seem to glow against the dark opal that surrounded it. “It’s _ beautiful.” _

Crowley was silent for a few seconds before he took another breath he didn’t need (or perhaps did in this moment) and spoke again. “It’s yours.”

The angel froze. His eyes widened and turned to the demon, who was finally looking at him again. Aziraphale could feel the love he’d put into the stone radiating from within it _ and _ without it. It hummed like song, burrowing into Aziraphale’s chest and circling his heart, making sure it heard every note, every chorus, every symphony. Aziraphale had felt love before, as angels do, but this… this was different. This was a love not around him, but directed wholly _ at him. _

He’d gotten this whole night-- this whole _ month-- _ completely wrong.

“...Mine…?”

Crowley managed a slow nod. “...I met you and felt… love again. I had it, so I made something out of it.” He shrugged again. “Always planned on giving it to you, but there was never--... never a right time. Never a time I didn’t think you’d fall if you accepted. Never a time I thought… you’d accept.” He ducked his head. “I was late because I was trying to figure out how to give it to you.”

Aziraphale stared into the light of the hidden star and felt his eyes begin to water again. Since _ Eden. _ Crowley had loved him for six thousand years and carried around proof of it for nearly as long. And Aziraphale hadn’t known. He hadn’t suspected once. He swallowed and looked down at the ring again, running his thumb over the precious stone. “...You put your heart into this, didn’t you?”

Crowley didn’t answer verbally, but he did look away. An affirmation if Aziraphale ever saw one.

And so, the angel smiled, as shaky as it was against the wave of emotions he was feeling. He turned the ring once more and slipped it onto his finger, finding that it fit him perfectly. Just as it was meant to, he realised. “I’d better take damn good care of it then.” He curled his other hand around his now ring-clad one and held it to his chest.

Crowley’s gaze snapped back to him. It was wide and full of hope, perhaps a thing Crowley had never allowed himself to actively feel before because of any number of factors (Hell’s constant presence over his shoulder, his mistaken belief that Aziraphale would never accept, a lack of self worth that Aziraphale would absolutely be correcting in the immediate future). Those golden eyes shimmered against Aziraphale’s look of soft longing, and the demon leaned forward to cover Aziraphale’s hands with his. “Do you mean--”

“I _ do _ mean, darling.”

Aziraphale barely had time to open his arms before those arms were full of Crowley. He clung to the thin man immediately, not wanting there to be a second of doubt that he wanted Crowley there. One hand pressed into the small of his back, and the other rose up his shoulders and gripped the fabric of his shirt in a tight fist. He felt Crowley’s desperate hands curl behind his neck and in his hair as the demon pressed his nose just under his ear. It was the perfect place for Crowley to be so Aziraphale could hear the soft sob of a laugh escape his throat.

Aziraphale pulled tighter and fisted the shirt at the small of Crowley’s back as well, feeling his tears building and spilling over. “I’ve been so foolish...” He turned his head to rub his cheek against Crowley’s. “I’ve made you wait so, so long,” He whispered directly into his ear.

“I’d wait as long again,” Came Crowley’s hurried and hushed declaration. His long fingers threaded through Aziraphale’s hair over and over, as if assuring himself he was truly there. He pulled away enough to brush his nose against Aziraphale’s. “I’d wait the whole six thousand years over again if there was some chance you’d say yes.”

Aziraphale beamed, quite literally as he realised he was allowing his holy light to shine from himself. It faltered for only a second to allow himself to worry that the light may hurt Crowley, but when the demon only smiled back and brought one hand to his cheek, it returned just as whole. Aziraphale rubbed Crowley’s back and nuzzled his thin face. _ “Yes,” _ He whispered, heavily and easily the loudest sound in the still room. “Yes today, yes tomorrow, yes to every tomorrow after that…” He leaned to rest their foreheads together and closed his eyes. “Yes even when time rips itself apart and there _ is _ no tomorrow.” His eyes opened and stared right into Crowley’s. “You’ll wait no more, my _ dearest.” _

Crowley made a noise, like all of the stress had left him in a sob, and he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s. Crowley’s lips were thin and soft. They asked timid permission rather than took greedily as one would expect of a demon, and Aziraphale was more than happy to give him every little thing he asked for, as often as he wanted, whenever he wanted it. They had all the time in the universe now, and they would have all of eternity after if Aziraphale had any say in the matter.

Crowley slid onto Aziraphale’s lap like a puzzle piece as they kissed, his chilled body becoming warm against Aziraphale’s own. Getting stuck in the rain hadn’t done the poor demon any favours, even if he’d snapped himself dry, but Aziraphale wanted him to share as much heat as possible. He pushed that warmth-- that love he’d held back for so long-- out of him until there was an aura of heat in which Crowley could settle, cuddle, draw in as much as he needed. Crowley must have been able to feel it, because he gasped against Aziraphale’s lips and trembled in his arms. _ “Aziraphale,” _ He whispered, hands fluttering around the angel’s face like moths to his great light. He pulled back enough to open his eyes and stare into Aziraphale’s again.

Aziraphale smiled. “I think we ought to start time again, my love,” He said, pressing an apologetic kiss to Crowley’s nose.

Crowley flushed red and glanced around them. “I’m… gonna be honest, I forgot we were here.”

Aziraphale leaned forward, tilting the startled and suddenly clinging Crowley backward until he bumped the table, and tapped the table once. Crowley glanced back over his shoulder to where Aziraphale had left a hefty amount of money on the table. “We needn’t be. If you’d like to er,” Aziraphale’s eyes looked down as he grew bashful, “Take this somewhere else?”

Crowley shifted one of his arms to curl behind Aziraphale’s shoulders and used his now free hand to tilt that sheepish face to his again. He only grinned. “Anywhere you want to go,” He promised.

Aziraphale beamed back (still rather literally). “Shall we then?”

~

The following months were much more what Aziraphale realised he was hoping for. It was a whirlwind in comparison to the slow and gentle breeze of the prior six millennia. Aziraphale mentioned, off-handedly, that it was a shame that there had to be a drive between them when they wanted to spend time together, and the next day, Aziraphale found that his upstairs, he entirely unused storage area, had been expanded. And by expanded, it had literally just _ become _ Crowley’s flat. Somewhere else in London, where Crowley’s flat _ had _ been, was completely vacated. No proof remained that anyone had ever lived there. It was all above the shop now. Crowley had started to apologise for perhaps ‘jumping the gun’, but Aziraphale didn’t even let the word escape Crowley’s lips before he swallowed it with his own.

Plants cropped up around the shop. The roof, while previously completely clear of anything but the occasional bird, became a whole greenhouse garden in days. Crowley went up and fussed at each of the plants, trying to seem threatening to them as he usually did, but not a one believed him anymore, really. Aziraphale often wandered up by himself and told the plants stories of Crowley-- soft things that he remembered, including the tale of Crowley arriving at St. James park with a plant he refused to explain, which wound up rerooted in the shade of a mighty tree that would teach the little fern about things like weather and animals. From then on, Crowley’s plants knew that the threats were empty, but they still did their best. They grew and they flourished, and they happily blended with their new, sun-friendly companions that Crowley added once his garden was outside. Despite the usually cloudy state of London, the plants were never wanting for sun, and neither was Crowley. Aziraphale made sure of that. The small greenhouse was, against all logic, always comfortably warm.

When people took note of the garden, Crowley eventually agreed to let Aziraphale’s book patrons to come up and see it. What this resulted in was a rather symbiotic relationship; Patrons would select books from the shelves and head up to the garden, where they would settle in any number of chairs and read peacefully. Then, when they were done, they would close the books, reshelve them, and _ leave. _ No purchases. No lost merchandise. Aziraphale nearly dropped his tea the first time it happened. Crowley made an advertisement to encourage the behavior, and A. Z. Fell and Co. Booksellers little to non-existent sales dropped even more. Aziraphale thanked him by teaching him that sometimes, all that was needed to create a supernova was talented fingers and softly whispered praises. The whole block lost power for an hour until Aziraphale had restored the grid while laughing (much to Crowley’s embarrassment).

Beyond that rather hilarious hiccup, days went by peacefully. Aziraphale learned to enjoy sleep rather thoroughly as long as his arms were wrapped around his rather clingy companion. They lazed some days away in bed, others in the garden, had lunch and dinner rather frequently, and never once worried about what Hell or Heaven thought of anything. They never worried what _ anybody _ thought of anything. None of that mattered now. And none of it would ever matter ever again.

At least until Thursday.

They were entertaining at the bookshop one chilly day in November; Anathema and Newt had come over, and Aziraphale shut the shop down in favour of having tea with their very good, human friends. It was nice to enjoy their company, seeing as their existence beside them would be incredibly fleeting against how long he and Crowley would continue to be. It was a sad thought, and he didn’t like to dwell on it. He had done, many times, and Crowley had to miracle him some tea cakes and cocoa to get his mind off of it.

They had been there for a few hours, and he’d been pulling down a few first edition books about the use of herbs in tea for Anathema, handing them to her as he prattled on about the curative properties of turmeric when he was startled by her gasp.

_ “Oh my god.” _

Before he could respond to her, his left hand was snatched from his side. He turned to regard the sudden move and saw that the young witch was enthralled by the ring on his left hand.

She glanced up at him fleetingly. “This is _ gorgeous,” _ She said, her eyes snapping back to the ring nigh immediately.

“Oh,” Aziraphale managed, unable to stop the bashful colour in his cheeks. “Isn’t it just? I can’t take any credit for it, it’s Crowley’s creation.”

Anathema’s already wide eyes grew wider. A smile spread across her face and added shine to her eyes as she set the books down and took Aziraphale’s hand in both of hers. “Oh, you’re married!” It was a statement, not a question.

Aziraphale’s blush got worse. “I _ beg _ your pardon?”

“You’d better not be talking about me down there,” Came Crowley’s voice from the top of the new staircase that led to the garden. The sound of Newt coughing followed shortly behind. “Or at least if you are, I hope it’s all bad things. I’ve a reputation to uphold.”

Aziraphale glanced at Newt as he followed down the stairs, still trying to clear his throat. “What on earth did you do to him?”

Crowley touched down on their floor and turned to regard Newt, who was holding a hand up to prove he was okay in lieu of the words he couldn’t get out. “He said he liked ginger candies, so I offered him some ginger root.”

“Oh, Crowley that was rude.”

Newt waved his hand again. “S’okay-!” He hacked once. “He wa-_ ahem- _warned me it wouldn’t be the same.”

Crowley turned a grin to Aziraphale. “See? No harm done. Now,” He turned to them and started walking again, “I heard my name.”

Aziraphale went pink again, but Anathema looked between them. “So, you’re _ not _ married then?”

Crowley froze in his tracks. His eyebrows shot far above the tops of his sunglasses, and even _ he _ deepened in colour. “We’re not _ what?” _

Aziraphale sighed and withdrew his hand from Anathema’s. “No, dear, we’re not married. It’s a human formality, there’s really no point,” He answered, honestly. He had realised that things would be assumed if he wore the ring on his left ring finger, but it had been more a happy accident that worked as a deterrent of sorts (more than a few middle aged women who’d never read a Shakespeare play in their lives wandered in inquiring about more than just books, but they had dwindled when he started wearing the ring). He’d forgotten that the assumption could also be made by those he knew. “It’s simply a lovely, _ meaningful _ gift.”

“You are together though,” Came Newt’s rough response.

Aziraphale blushed again, but he smiled as his eyes found the floor. He curled one hand around the ring and stared at it lovingly. “Yes.” It wasn’t like they’d been hiding it. They didn’t often kiss in front of company, but they’d linked pinkies when they walked, and Crowley had a habit of swinging his arm around Aziraphale’s shoulder often.

Crowley had begun moving again and did just that once he was at Aziraphale’s side, curling his arm around him and tugging him close. He pressed a soft kiss into Aziraphale’s hair. “I had to give him something special. I couldn’t just give him any old ring, not after how long we’ve known each other.”

Anathema smiled at both of them and snatched up Newt’s hand once he was within reach. She didn’t look away from them yet. “So it’s like a promise ring?”

“I… suppose?” Aziraphale looked over to Crowley, who hadn’t moved. “What would you be promising, exactly?”

Crowley hummed in thought and tugged Aziraphale’s head down so he could rest his cheek on the top of his head. “Well, I’m never leaving you, for one thing. Promise to protect you, promise to love you, promise to keep being infuriating until the end of-- and after-- time.” He shrugged and peered down at him again. “Guess that counts.”

“Sounds like marriage to me,” Said Newt, looking over at the ring now himself.

Crowley scoffed a bit. “You heard the angel, marriage is a _ human _ formality, practically a chore. Besides, it’s only purpose nowadays is to combine wealths and get government benefits when you do your bloody taxes. Aziraphale and I don’t worry about any of those things.”

“I do my taxes.”

“And you do them _ impeccably.” _

“Thank you, my dear.”

Anathema tilted her head with a pout. “Most people marry for love. Finances are the last thing a lot of people think about. It’s just… a way to share what you are together.” She huffed a little. “But I guess that is a pretty human concept. Celestial beings like you probably experience each other differently than we do.” She sighed wistfully and looked at the ring again. “It’s a beautiful ring though.”

“Thank you,” Nodded Crowley.

Newt, who’s throat was finally clear, gave them a half smile. “Suppose it’d be a bit hard to be united in ‘holy’ matrimony when one of you is decidedly _ not. _ Also you’d not be able to marry in a church.”

Crowley gave a mock wince. “Yeah, pesky things, churches. Sizzling away on consecrated grounds isn’t really conducive to a romantic atmosphere.”

Aziraphale snickered at him. “Perhaps not, but I happen to recall you managing to be _ very _ romantic on church grounds anyway.”

Crowley went red and swatted at Aziraphale. “All right, all right, don’t go dredging up the past, nobody needs to hear that story.”

Anathema was beaming. She nearly bounced over to the two and wrapped her arms around them. “I’m happy for the both of you anyway,” She said, squeezing and pulling away. “You made a _ lovely _ ring, Crowley.”

Crowley smirked as he was released. “I had a _ lovely _ inspiration,” He said, side-eyeing Aziraphale.

The angel ducked his head and could not stop his smile. “Good _ heavens, _my dear.”

Anathema’s grin grew mischievous, and she bit her tongue between her teeth to stave off laughter. “Come on, Newt.” She lifted her new stack of books from the table where she’d set them and handed half to the witchfinder. “I feel like these two have more than compliments to share.”

Newt barely caught the books he was handed and used the corner of one to push up his glasses. “Oh, er. Right. Sure. Thank you for the ginger, Crowley.”

Crowley snorted. “You’re welcome.”

“When should I bring these books back?” Anathema asked on her way down the spiral staircase.

Aziraphale smiled after her. “Whenever you see fit. No rush at all. I know they’re in good hands.”

She smiled back at him, and with that, they left. The door locked behind them via a small miracle on Aziraphale’s part, and he turned to regard his demon with a soft smile. Crowley hadn’t stopped looking at him, and Aziraphale ducked his gaze. “What is that look for?”

“I know for a fact one of those books was a Dioscorides.”

“Yes.”

“He signed it for you.”

“And Anathema will take very good care of it.”

Crowley hummed a quiet laugh and turned to Aziraphale, hooking his hands behind his neck and leaning their bodies together. “You say that after you’ve handed a two-thousand year old book to a woman who willingly burned a book of prophecies that was centuries old.”

Aziraphale blanched, much to Crowley’s amusement, and stiffened his spine. “Y-You know that was a special circumstance! Anathema is very respectful of my collection!”

“I _ know, _ I know.” Crowley leaned down and pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s forehead. “I’m teasing you.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but pout. “I liked it better when you were complimenting me.”

“Oh don’t worry that pretty head of yours, I have plenty of those for you as well.” Crowley moved his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders and nuzzled into the side of his head. “My gorgeous little bookworm.”

Aziraphale _ giggled _ against his better judgement and hid his head in Crowley’s shoulder.

“Your smile alone would make Hell seem like Eden.”

Aziraphale lost his breath and clung tighter. _ “Crowley.” _

_ “Aziraphale,” _ Crowley hummed against his head and rocked them back and forth. “I think we could do with being horizontal for a little while, don’t you?”

Aziraphale lifted his head slowly, still pink in the cheeks. “Well I’m certainly not planning to reopen the shop after I’ve already gone through the trouble of shutting it.”

~

‘Horizontal’ resulted in the two of them tumbling into Crowley’s bed in their most comfortable pajamas and snuggling into each other for all they were worth. Crowley’s silk fabrics and Aziraphale’s breathable cotton made for a cloud-like rest among the nest of pillows Crowley had accumulated over his time on Earth. Crowley had found sleep easily-- easier now that he had Aziraphale there with him, by his own admission.

Unfortunately, Aziraphale could _ not _ sleep. It would be easy to nod off, with Crowley’s left arm looped over him, head tucked away in his throat, soft breath ghosting over his chest, and all of those soft, pillowy surfaces bracing him at every angle and making him feel a bit like he was floating. But the day replayed in his mind, and he was stuck on something.

The word ‘married’. The _ concept _ of marriage. It truly would only be a formality for the two of them; any legal standing either of them had was completely fabricated for the sake of blending in, their finances were miracled into existence and irrelevant, and their love (hopefully) would surpass any natural marriage by far. After all, ‘til death do us part’ was never meant to be optional. It was a foolish notion for the two of them to consider such a thing.

And yet, Aziraphale couldn’t help but look at Crowley’s empty left hand and feel that it would look so much better with a ring there. He took that hand in his own and ran his thumb slowly over the ring finger in thought. Were Crowley’s thoughts on marriage really so cold? Or would he be receptive to the idea?

“‘Can feel you thinking, angel,” Mumbled his lovely demon sleepily from his position against Aziraphale’s throat. “Awfully hard to sleep, doing that.”

The vibration of the voice startled Aziraphale out of his reverie. “Oh! I’m sorry my dear, I’m just… er,” He pursed his lips, unsure of what to say.

“Thinking?” Offered Crowley.

Aziraphale managed a nod. “Yes, thinking.”

Crowley breathed a sigh against Aziraphale’s pulse and pulled away enough to sit up on his elbow, bright, golden eyes staring down at Aziraphale’s quietly embarrassed face. “About what then? May as well get it out.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes and sighed, lifting his hand to cover his face. “It isn’t serious…”

Crowley arched an eyebrow at him. “And yet here it is, keeping you awake.”

“It isn’t as though I _ need _ sleep you know.”

_ “Angel,” _ Crowley warned.

Aziraphale huffed and sat up on his elbows as well. “Is marriage really just… a chore? You don’t think anything good could come from it?”

Crowley blinked wide at him. “...What?”

Aziraphale bit his lip. “I sound _ foolish, _ I _ know, _ I just--” He swallowed his nerves and sat up further. “I know it’s just a human concept, and it really doesn’t mean anything, but would it really be so bad if we were--” He took a deep breath. “If we were to be married…?”

Crowley stared in awe. “Is--... Is that what you want?”

“Don’t do that, it isn’t just about me.” Aziraphale groaned and dropped back to the pillows, hiding his face in his hands again. “Ah, I’m being ridiculous…”

He felt like an idiot. Of course Crowley wouldn’t care about something like marriage-- because there really was no point in it for them. Their love was beyond human boundaries and human understanding, so such a human ritual for such an otherworldly thing was a foolish notion. It shouldn’t matter that Crowley doesn’t think much of the ceremony. He loved Aziraphale infinitely. He had done since nearly the dawn of time, and no simple thing like ‘marriage’ could really sum up what they were now

Not that it didn’t still hurt for some inexplicable reason.

“Aziraphale,” Came Crowley’s voice, finally. “Why are you hiding from me, you silly angel?”

Aziraphale dared lower his hands from his face to peer up at him. He was expecting perhaps pity, but the look of sheer adoration nearly stole all of his breath.

Crowley’s eyes half-lidded as he took in Aziraphale’s soft face. “I love you. You hear me? I love you to the farthest star. And then I love you farther. I love you more than any star I’ve ever made. I don’t think humans have come up with enough ways to describe how I love you, and I love you _ all _ of those bloody ways.”

Aziraphale’s throat threatened to close against the emotions he was feeling. He sat up and curled his arms around the demon, feeling even more like he’d asked such a stupid question. Of course he had nothing to worry about. “Oh my _ darling. _ I love you too, in as many ways if not more.” He sniffled softly and rubbed an eye free of a tear. “Every way there is that is possible, I love you.”

Crowey held back just as tightly, but he pulled away to take his left hand in both of his. “Every single way. Every angelic way, every godly way, every demonic way, and every _ human way,” _ Without any warning, he slipped the ring off of Aziraphale’s finger and slid off of the bed, settling down on his knee. “Including the one that makes someone want to make a promise, legally and thoroughly, to be with someone else for the remainder of their days and make a big show of it to all their friends.”

Aziraphale lost his ability to form words. “Cr--... Crowley,” He whispered, awe and wonder filling his chest and threatening to bubble over.

“Let me do this the right way.” Crowley’s eyes never left his. “Aziraphale, love of my existence, light to my shadow-- Will you help me piss Heaven and Hell right off and marry me?”

Aziraphale laughed brightly and covered his mouth as the happiest tears escaped his eyes. “Of _ course _ I will, you fiend,” He said, shaky only in that his words were being rattled by his trembling heart.

Crowley beamed right back and slipped the ring back on that finger where it belonged. He climbed back onto the bed into the angel’s arms, peppering his face and lips with as many kisses as he possibly could against Aziraphale’s endless laughter.

They eventually wound up buried back in the many pillows on the bed and wrapped around each other, basking in their shared warmth and love. Aziraphale held his hand above them, like the star it was, and marveled at the precious, glowing stone.

“We’re getting married,” He whispered, barely able to believe his own words.

“We,” Whispered Crowley, pressing a kiss just under Aziraphale’s ear, “Are getting married.”

~


	2. Something New

They waited a week to tell anyone. It wasn’t a purposeful wait; there was no stewing on the decision, or discussions of plans. In fact, the entire week, the shop was shut, and they just enjoyed each other until Aziraphale mentioned that in order to be wed, they needed to actually go about planning the darn thing.

Planning began with phone calls to their would-be guests. The first was to Anathema, since the entire thing was, on some level, her idea. She had audibly celebrated the moment the words ‘we’re getting married’ left Aziraphale’s lips, and she’d hurried to whatever room Newt was in to shake him and tell him the news. Aziraphale asked her to extend the invitation to Adam and his little friends whenever she found the time. It felt like another slight at Heaven and Hell, to invite Adam to a wedding that could only be because he decided he liked Earth just the way it was. But at the same time, if anybody deserved to see what he was able to save, it was Adam.

Crowley’s call to Shadwell and Madam (now Ms. as she had since retired from Madaming of all kinds) Tracy had gone less simply but just as positive. Aziraphale bit his lip and held in his laughter as Crowley fought through a sea of Shadwell shouting about blasphemy (as he had started doing ever since he found out that Crowley was a demon; ‘Yes, yes, it’ll all be very blasphemous, a demon marrying an angel-- gonna taint his wings, I am,’ promised Crowley to the tune of Aziraphale snickering) over Ms. Tracy congratulating them and planning to be there dressed to the nines. The call ended with Shadwell promising to arrive in his nicest suit only to ensure their evil ways didn’t spread to the children.

In the end, of course, there were only eight people to invite. Their short round of phone calls ended with just the two, and they looked at their guest list with soft warmth. “Short list,” Crowley remarked, though he didn’t sound disappointed.

Aziraphale had smiled brightly at him. “Seating arrangements will be easier that way.”

Crowley had smiled and leaned over to press a kiss to his angel’s temple before wandering off upstairs to fetch his laptop. “Venues next I think,” He’d called before disappearing.

Aziraphale waited for him to be out of sight before he let his smile drop and looked at their list.

Eight people. That was all they had to show for six thousand years of existence in this world. They never actively made friends so much as accumulated acquaintances in their time, and even if anybody  _ had _ gotten close enough to them to be considered a friend, those people were long dead now. Aziraphale had once had many friends in the form of philosophers and writers, and Crowley had many artist and astronomer friends. But that was then. It would be rather difficult to invite Leonardo da Vinci or Oscar Wilde when they’ve long since passed on. The longer they had gone, the fewer friends they made. As time went on, losing people grew harder and harder, so perhaps they had simply learned to distance themselves out of self-preservation.

Now there were only eight, and they were nearly the closest friends they’d ever had. They were the only ones who were aware of everything. No secrets lay between them. No miracle would have to be spared to celebrate with them. It was going to be small, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be spectacular.

But Aziraphale wished he could invite others. He wished fate had been kinder. He wished the  _ other angels _ had been kinder. They were family, no matter how far away and distant they had been. But there was no inviting them now. Aziraphale’s remaining family was Crowley, and these eight humans, no matter how fleetingly he would have them. Everyone else was… lost to him. No Gabriel. No Michael. No Uriel.

No God.

“So clearly we can’t do any churches, but I know of a few places we could scout--” Crowley had been bounding back down the stairs and nearly skid to a stop when he looked at him. “Aziraphale! What’s happened?” He threw the laptop onto an empty chair and took Aziraphale’s face in his hands.

It wasn’t until Crowley wiped the tears away that Aziraphale realized he’d begun crying. “Oh--” He ducked his head out of Crowley’s hands and rubbed his eyes. “No, it’s… it’s nothing.”

“We talked about this.” Crowley sat next to Aziraphale again, carefully positioned on the couch so that their sides were flush to each other. “Talk to me.”

“I  _ know, _ I know, I--” He bit his lip and let Crowley pull his face into his shoulder. “I just wish that our list could be longer. I wish… the angels…” He didn’t finish. He didn’t want to bring up negative things during this process. Their wedding was meant to be a happy thing.

Crowley didn’t scoff at the mention of angels, as Aziraphale thought he would. Instead he clung a little harder and rubbed his back. “I know, love.” He leaned his head down on top of the angel’s and buried his nose in his blonde curls. “They made their choices. They’re not worth it.”

“I know. Sorry, dear boy…” Aziraphale leaned heavily into the hold.

“No need for apologies.” Crowley pursed his lips, and he rubbed his cheek against Aziraphale’s head. “What wedding would be complete without family drama?”

Aziraphale snorted, and he felt Crowley turn a smirk into his hair.

“There’s my happy angel. Now,” He clicked his fingers and his laptop was suddenly in his lap. He opened the lid, booting it up with no issues, and full battery life despite having no cord (Crowley had lost the thing, but that was no excuse for it to not work at peak performance). “I know an ex-satanic nunnery that now hosts special events.”

Aziraphale laughed fully now, feeling warmer and a bit foolish. Here he was again with absolutely nothing to worry about, settled happily in Crowley’s arms as he went over his more serious suggestions.

His thoughts still hung on the short list, though. As Crowley waxed poetic about the gardens in one location he had his eye on, Aziraphale’s mind wandered. It listened to his demon, but it also fluttered about with an idea. One small, potentially crazy idea.

He supposed it never hurt to try something crazy every once in a while.

~

Aziraphale waited a few days to enact his plan.

He stood in the long nave of the Southwark Cathedral and paced carefully along the pews until he sat in one nowhere near any of the other visitors. He soaked in the holy feeling, the warmth and the love that every church carried, and let it settle into his bones, closing his eyes to just… feel. He tilted his head upwards, forgetting for just a moment that the angels of heaven had all but forsaken him.

God’s love still felt like home, just as much as Crowley’s did.

He closed his hands in prayer on the back of the pew before him and opened his eyes. “You probably weren’t expecting to hear from me,” He started, shaky. None of the visitors around would hear him, not as long as he was focusing on Her and Her alone. “It’s been… Well, it’s been thousands of years since I heard from you last. I know you’re likely disappointed in me, as the other angels are, but you must know I was only looking out for your creation.” He looked down. “I love what you’ve made, and I love what  _ they _ can make when they really put their minds to it, and I--...” He paused and squeezed his eyes shut.

“...But I’m not here to apologise for my actions. The apocalypse is behind us, and I’ve moved on. This place is my home now, and I’m making a place for myself with--” He inhaled sharply and opened his eyes once more, looking up at the windows ahead that allowed the light of the sun in. “With Crowley. With the demon, Crowley.

“I know you see all, so I know you’re aware of what he means to me. I love him dearly. I want nothing more than to see this world to its natural end with him, and then go off wherever we can for the rest of eternity. It’ll take more than hellfire to pry my hand from his now.” He kept his face stern, but he couldn’t stop his voice wavering. “I’m not here to defend my decision. I will not defend loving someone with my whole being. I’m here to--...” The cross look upon his features finally slipped away and left him looking only vulnerable and, if he was honest, a little scared. “I’m here to invite you to our wedding. We’re getting married, for our human friends-- our new family-- and I want you there.” He said the words quickly, afraid if he took his time, he’d never say them at all.

The minute the words left his lips however, they felt ridiculous. They tasted like a mistake, and he felt humiliated by just coming here and asking such a thing. But he still wanted to try. “I miss you, you see. And I want you there to see what can  _ be _ now that the world is going to keep turning. You can meet Adam! He’s such a bright boy, and he has a wonderful future ahead of him, and I--” He ducked his head once more. “I love you. I’ve trusted your judgement for millennia. And I  _ still _ trust you. If you can find the time, if you can find a way, I… I want you to meet the man that Crowley has become. Whoever he was as an angel, he’s so much more now, he deserves your love. He deserves…  _ everything.” _

There was no answer, as usual. Aziraphale didn’t feel nervous for that fact; that was how She worked. If She answered at all, it would be in the form of action, not words. She would either show, or She wouldn’t. Odds were that She wouldn’t, especially if Metatron was to be believed, but Aziraphale wanted to keep hoping. Crowley’s questioning of the Great Plan had opened his eyes to the idea that it and the  _ Ineffable _ Plan were not one and the same. He could afford to hold out hope that She would make an appearance.

What made him nervous was the anticipation. What if She did show, and She disapproved? What if She used the invitation to smite them for their crimes? What if She simply didn’t show? Would he be able to hide his disappointment the day they marry? Either way, he would have to deal with the consequences of what he’d just done.

He waited for any obvious answer for an hour. When it was clear that She wouldn’t be responding in such a way, he resolved himself to his wait. “P-...Please consider it,” He whispered, too quietly.

As he stood and made his way out of the cathedral, he was too distracted by the nerves to notice that the entire room had cleared of visitors in the time he was waiting. The only other living being there was a single white dove perched on the vast altar, watching him as he left.

~

Crowley had, at one point in his existence, walked upon clouds. He’d danced on thin air with his heart light and love filling every ounce of his being. Any metaphorical statement humans had come up with to describe the feeling of love, he’d likely done them rather literally back before the Fall.

None of that held a single candle to the quasar that he was feeling now. After six thousand years, he could hold Aziraphale in his arms whenever he wanted. He could kiss along those cheeks and bask in the warmth the was the angel’s skin. After sleeping, he woke wrapped around the greatest thing to ever happen to him, and they were getting  _ married. _ All those metaphors for love were going to have to work significantly harder to be any semblance of accurate now.

He knew that his feelings were spilling over in places they shouldn’t be. He’d not bother to check a single leaf in the greenhouse for spots and  _ hummed songs _ at the plants as opposed to shouting and threatening them. He decided that they had done a very good job of distracting the bookshop’s guests from purchasing any of Aziraphale’s precious literature, so they deserved a small reprieve from his wrath for now. “You lot keep it up, and I may harvest some of you for the wedding.”

He strolled around the flat like his floors  _ were _ made of clouds, swinging out the door that now led to a small staircase that tumbled down to the shop. As he plotted and planned in his head, he snapped his fingers and stopped humming as he had a thought. “The cake! Better list some bakeries he likes.”

Over the last few days, Anathema had inserted herself into the wedding planning. Neither demon nor angel minded. She’d taken the lead on scouting tailors for them, and later that day, both of them were scheduled for fittings thanks to her ability to talk people into things. She’d also made a nice list for them to follow of what to do.

They’d seen their fair share of weddings, but when it came to actually having one, they had no direction. Anathema had been a Go-... well,  _ someone- _ sent anyway. She was constantly chatting with either Crowley or Aziraphale on the phone to try and get an idea of what they wanted their wedding to look like. Did they want a theme? What kind of food would they want? (Aziraphale’s answer to the latter had devolved into him simply nearly everything he liked to eat that came to mind, so they made a point to revisit that one later.) Did they want their outfits to match? With all her questions, they had come to realise that they had no idea what they wanted their wedding to be like. Their biggest concern was just being together, and being there with their friends. So, they handed the planning reigns to Anathema, who’d done a giddy dance and was now in and out of the shop with some regularity and books upon books of wedding ideas.

Crowley continued humming as he paced to the table where they had spent most of their time planning. He began stacking books and magazines carefully to make room for the new ones Anathema would inevitably be bringing whenever she arrived.

As he did so, the slip of paper they’d used to list their guests fluttered to the floor. Crowley auto-piloted and picked it up without a thought, ready to simply set it back on the table to get lost again (it wasn’t as if eight people were hard to remember), but he paused when he realised it was different. There were nine names. Setting the books down, he stared at the list.

_ ‘Anathema _

_ Newt _

_ Adam _

_ Pepper _

_ Brian _

_ Wensleydale _

_ Shadwell _

_ Tracy _

_ God (?)’ _

Crowley stared at the last entry and slowly sat on the couch, barely missing sitting on his unsuspecting laptop.

Aziraphale wanted to invite God. He’d wandered out of the shop early that morning with the excuse that he was running a quick errand and ‘don’t worry about a thing darling, I’ll be back soon’. That had only been a couple hours ago, but he hadn’t said  _ why _ he was leaving or what the errand was.

He’d gone to invite God, and he didn’t tell Crowley.

Crowley was not, in the least, upset by this. He knew exactly why Aziraphale would do such a thing. It was the same reason Crowley still questioned and prayed in dire moments in his existence; perhaps She would hear. Perhaps She would listen. Perhaps She would answer. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. Crowley hadn’t really given up on Her, so it stood to reason that Aziraphale definitely hadn’t.

The door of the shop jingled open, signalling Aziraphale’s return, but Crowley didn’t move. He was too focused on the timid pen that made up the word ‘God’ on the list. It was too shaky. It was too light. Like the writer hadn’t been sure it was right to even put it there.

“Crowley!” Called his husband-to-be. “Sorry it took me so long. I took the train, and there was a slight delay on my way back--”

As Aziraphale rounded the bookshelf, Crowley felt his presence and felt him  _ freeze. _ He glanced up at him and found Aziraphale was staring directly at the list with a measure of fear in his eyes. “I--... C-Crowley--”

“Come sit down, angel.” Crowey moved his laptop out of the way, offering the spot on the couch for Aziraphale.

The angel did not move. “I can--... I can explain.”

_ “Aziraphale, _ I’m not mad,” Crowley said, offering him a sympathetic smile and patting the couch again. “Please.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath, straightened his lapels, and walked to the couch as though he were walking to a hangman’s noose. He clearly wasn’t buying that Crowley wasn’t upset. So, when he finally sat, Crowley wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “How did it go?” He asked, leaning his forehead against Aziraphale’s temple.

Aziraphale sighed, but he remained stiff. “How do you think? I didn’t receive an answer.”

Crowley winced knowingly. “Yeah, She can be like that.”

Aziraphale made a soft noise of protest and pushed Crowley away. Not far enough that he seemed to be upset with him, but enough to make a point. “How is it you’re so calm about this? I thought for sure you’d be--... you’d be angry with me.” Aziraphale looked at his lap sheepishly.

Crowley arched a brow at him. “Oh come now, angel, it isn’t like you went out and invited  _ Gabriel, _ or any of that lot. Archangels, other demons,  _ Satan? _ Yeah, I’d be a little miffed about those, but this one I understand.”

Aziraphale peered up at him with those precious ocean waves he called eyes and reached out to fiddle with the hem of Crowley’s shirt. “You do?”

“‘Course!” Crowley gestured widely at the ceiling. “You know I think She’s actually quite pleased with how things turned out in the end. She’d have to be! She sees all, you remember, so you know blessed well that She knows exactly what we did to escape punishment and never once stepped in to rat us out. It stands to reason She’s on our side.”

The tension and terror finally fluttered out of Aziraphale’s form, and he nearly deflated. “Oh--... Oh my dear, do you really think so?” He asked, a nervous smile in place on his face, but at least he was finally smiling again.

“Nearly know so, love,” Crowley promised.

Aziraphale’s worried brow softened, and he lifted his hands to Crowley’s face, pulling him into a kiss. It was chaste, but it was fast and meaningful, and Crowley could swear he could feel Aziraphale pushing his love directly into his being, filling him with warmth and making him forget how to feel cold. The angel pulled away and beamed, no trace of nerves on his face anymore. “Thank you, darling. I really don’t know why I was so worried. You must be right. She absolutely would have objected if we’d truly done anything beyond Her rule.” He pulled Crowley’s head down and pressed another soul-solidifying kiss to his forehead. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to put on some tea.” He stood from the couch, but he let his hand linger on Crowley’s cheek as he left.

Crowley slithered after that warm, bright touch as far as he could without leaving the couch, pleasantly humming and watching the angel go. “Do hurry back! We need to buckle down a cake next,” He called.

Aziraphale flashed back a giddy smile. “Two shakes then!” And then he disappeared around the corner.

Crowley’s smile disappeared with him. He righted himself on the couch and looked back at the list in his hand, focusing on the final guest. He set it on the table and lifted the pen Aziraphale had used to put it there in the first place and crossed out the nervous question mark beside Her name. He set the pen down and sent a warning stare upward to the ceiling.

“Don’t you bloody disappoint him. You can forsake me all you want, but not him.” He fisted his hands on the table’s surface and bit his lip. “...Please.”

As usual, he received no answer.

~

“I am  _ not _ going to be the flower girl,” Warned Pepper, arms crossed on Anathema’s kitchen table inches away from a mug of cocoa.

“Well  _ somebody _ has to be, and you’re the only girl here,” Brian proclaimed, receiving a rather threatening look from Pepper that said if he didn’t watch it, his face would be full of that cocoa, and not in any good way.

“Actually,” Wensleydale said, sensing the tension immediately, “Anathema is a girl too, she could always do it if you won’t.”

Crowley smirked from the doorframe between the kids’ conversation and the soft and giddy rambling of Aziraphale and Anathema on the couch behind him.

The planning stages of the wedding had gone on for months. They had their suits, which had been expertly tailored on Anathema’s dime (her family had a fortune what’s number didn’t bear thinking about, but that only assisted Aziraphale in putting that little number right back into the Device family fund wholly unnoticed), they had a venue (not the ex-satanic nunnery-turned-event venue, much to Crowley’s false-disappointment), and they even had a clergyman ready to officiate the wedding in a way that guaranteed no accidental blessings would make the ceremony uncomfortable (or potentially deadly) for Crowley. The man had been a little confused, but completely accommodating. Things were getting squared away rather nicely, and it was looking like an early spring wedding would be rather simple to achieve.

There still hadn’t been a single sign from the Almighty, however. Crowley and Aziraphale never talked about it, but the lack of  _ anything _ was beginning to weigh in the room like a heady fog.

“There is  _ literally _ nothing better about that!” Pepper was leaning forward on the table now, her wrath having switched targets to Wensleydale, who was leaning back on his stool now. “Either way, it’s sexist! For me or Anathema to be the flower girl just because we’re women!”

Adam had been watching the fury unfold rather quietly, as he often did. He made a point to only step in when things looked like they would be unsalvageable if he didn’t. “Pepper ought to be the ring bearer, honestly,” He said. Apparently now was that time. He kept his hands stuffed in his pockets. “She keeps track of important things better than the rest of us do. If anyone should be trusted with rings, it’s her.”

Pepper sat back away from the table, feigning an attempt to hold back the smug look on her face. Brian leaned on his hand, getting some whipped cream on his face from where it had been on his fingers. “So then who’s flower girl?”

Adam shrugged. “I could do it.” All eyes turned to him. “Not like anything else about this wedding is ‘normal’ anyway. It’s not at a church, and it’s not gonna have one of those organ players. If the people getting married don’t have to be human, I don’t see why the flower girl has to be a girl. Besides, I like flowers.”

Pepper’s grin grew larger. “That settles it then.”

Brian seemed to have begun staring hard at a wall in thought. “Does this mean that Adam has to wear a dress? Does this mean that  you’re _ not_ going to wear a dress?”

And Pepper’s grin was gone again.

Adam smirked and slid off his stool, deciding to get out of the way of whatever tirade Pepper was about to unleash. He walked instead to Crowley, hands still hidden in his jacket. “Mister Crowley? Can I talk to you?”

Crowley went rigid. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t handle a child’s problems; he’d done so for Warlock for years after all. He’d answered mundane questions and serious ones alike, and he nearly raised the boy, but this was a lot easier to handle when he knew it was coming. He wasn’t expecting Adam to suddenly need an adult in the form of  _ him. _ He was a very independent and headstrong boy. “Er,” He cleared his throat and pushed off the doorframe. “Sure. ‘Course.” He turned away from the kitchen, where Pepper was now standing and about to unleash hell (shame he’d be missing it), and he led the way past Aziraphale and Anathema.

“Going somewhere, my dear?” Aziraphale asked, ever the attentive one.

Crowley waved him off. “Oh, Adam wants to show me some wedding idea he’s got. Apparently you’re not allowed to know. Hell-beings only.”

Aziraphale laughed, light and easy in a way that undid several binds in Crowley’s chest. “Oh, fine. But don’t stay out too long, you know how you get in the cold.”

Adam snuck out the door while Crowley gave the angel an exhausted look, animated around his sunglasses. “I’ve been around the block for six thousand years, angel, of course I know how I get!” He scoffed and stuffed his hands in his pockets too, hunching his shoulders. “‘Don’t stay out too long’,” He mocked to the tune of Anathema laughing.

Adam was standing in the backyard, looking at the ground when Crowley let the door shut behind him and steeled himself against the cold. “All right then. Out with it. And I’m not answering if this is something your dad can talk to you about.”

“It’s not,” Adam insisted. “It’s--...” And then his mouth shut. Adam seemed to try and force his hands further into his pockets. “...I guess it’s about Hell?”

Crowley’s brow dipped into focus. “...Go on?”

“Is it really awful there? Like really,  _ really _ awful?”

Crowley felt himself shrug before he could stop it. “I mean, some bits, yeah. Lot of it’s a bit like a cramped office with shit lighting that never got the memo you can’t smoke inside anymore.” He tilted his head and lifted his chin a bit, eyeing Adam with curiosity. “Why?”

Adam shrugged this time. “Dunno. I guess I just want to know what it’s like.” His hands shifted uncomfortably in his pockets.

There was something more here, and it was making Crowley nervous. If this were any other boy, he might have brought up more specifics about Hell, but there was something…  _ afraid _ in Adam’s voice. “No reason to wonder about a place you’ll never see,” He said, testing the waters.

“...Won’t I?” And Adam drove right in.

Crowley let himself tumble after. “Is  _ that _ what you’re concerned about? Adam, you’re a child. You’re not even twelve yet, you’ve not  _ done _ anything to merit you going to Hell.”

“But it’s where I’m from, right? What if when I die, that’s where I go?”

Crowley shook his head. “No, it won’t work like that. It  _ can’t _ work like that.” Crowley marched around Adam to stand in his line of sight, trying to make him look up from the ground. “You’re not tethered to Hell because that’s where you were made. I’m not even sure  _ sinning _ gets you landed in Hell anymore-- Why all this panic suddenly?”

Adam didn’t look up. “...I just don’t want to hurt my friends.”

Crowley blinked. “You’re going to have to catch me up to your logic on this one.”

Adam took a breath, looked up, and finally pulled his hands free from his pockets. “I can still  _ do _ things,” He said, hands fisting at his sides. The ground outside, which had been frosted and crunching beneath their feet, grew greener and flourished, and a few wildflowers sprung up in seconds. The air immediately around them both felt warmer, bordering almost on too hot, and Adam flinched, letting go of his fists and shoving his hands back into his pockets. The heat dissipated, the grass and flowers were once again at the mercy of the cold. “Sorry.”

Crowley stared. That was, in a word, concerning. He’d thought that Adam would lose his power after denying Hell and Satan. But really, nothing had been written about this bit. There was no scripture of any kind that said one way or another about whether he’d keep his power or not. Perhaps the idea that he would not was just an assumption that was incorrect. Crowley certainly hoped so. Anything else implied that things were not over.

With a wince, he realized that he’d better speak up before Adam worried himself into a destructive fit. “Oh is that all?” Crowley finally chided, though it came much too late to hide the fact that he was mulling over what it  _ could _ mean. “Adam, your powers are just a part of you. They respond to what you want. And you don’t want to hurt your friends, so logically, you won’t.”

“That doesn’t mean it won’t… get bad again. I almost ended everything before.”

“That was before.”

“But what if--”

Crowley took a step forward and grabbed Adam’s shoulders. “Look, I’m not gonna lie to you, because I have a feeling you’d see right through it. It’s  _ alarming. _ But let me logic this out for you.” He reached up and pulled his sunglasses off, handing them to Adam for safe keeping. Adam took them gingerly in one hand. Crowley continued. “If things could still be in motion for you to bring about the end of the world, Heaven and Hell would be a lot more smug about things. Maybe Heaven wouldn’t bother, but I know for a  _ fact _ that Hell would not be able to resist sending somebody up to rub in my face that all my hard work to keep this planet spinning was for nothing.”

“What work?”

“Focus, Adam.” Crowley took a breath. “The fact that I’ve not heard or sensed anything  _ alone _ means you’ve got nothing to worry about. I mean it.”

Adam looked at Crowley’s snake-like eyes for a few stubborn seconds before looking down at the frost-riddled ground. “But what do I do about my powers?”

Crowley gave him half a shrug. “You practice.”

“Is that it?”

“Yep.” Crowley stood up straighter and flattened out his jacket, shivering a bit and tucking his hands away in his pockets. “I know it sounds like work, but if you feel like you’re not able to control it, you’ve got to practice controlling it.”

Adam looked down at Crowley’s sunglasses in his hands, pondering them. “Is that how you learned what to do?”

And thus, Crowley was floored. He wasn’t sure how to answer that question. Crowley hadn’t been ‘born’ after all; he’d been made. He was created, with full awareness of himself, and of God, and of what he was capable of, like an adult who knows they’re capable of breathing and smiling and crying but would be hard pressed to explain how its done to a party questioning it. “...Er.” Crowley reached up and rubbed his ear as he searched for words to say. “Well no, not exactly. But you have to remember, I wasn’t born like you.” He turned away from Adam and leaned against the cottage wall, staring out at the peaceful village. “You spent the first eleven years of your life not having any of this and now you have to get used to it. You lost something so simple, and now you have no guidance and no answers and everything is terrifying and cold, and you just… you just want to go back to the way things were before…” Crowley pursed his lips as he realised that he’d gone and projected that last bit. He stiffened and looked further away from Adam, closing his eyes.

It wasn’t often that he admitted being rather bitter about the whole falling business, and usually when he did, it was just like this. When he’d lose track of his words and who he was talking to, and somehow he’d tumble into a tirade about his own problems. In older times, it happened around Aziraphale, who knew better at the time than to pry into what it all meant. After the angel began to care, his problems were dumped on strangers, who were promptly miracled to forget after they’d offered any insight (not that it often helped). He supposed he’d held quite a few things back since the whole Armageddon business began. It wasn’t until Aziraphale invited God to their wedding that his head decided to start over analyzing things again. She’d been so silent, as She had been to him since he fell. He and Aziraphale could hide it all they wanted, but they were both nervous.

“Maybe it’s better now,” Adam offered before Crowley could even muster an excuse out of the conversation. “Before was good, but without what happened, we wouldn’t have… now.” He blinked up at Crowley. “Does that make sense?”

Crowley dared look down at the boy’s inquisitive face.

“So it’s okay that it’s scary because there’s still lots of good things. The world is still here. Maybe I’ll get good at this magic stuff. You’re getting married to an angel.” Crowley smirked at that. Of course Adam caught on. He was too bright not to. “I think it’ll be okay in the end, no matter what happens.” Adam held the sunglasses out to Crowley like they were a promise.

Crowley took them with careful fingers and place them over his eyes again. He put a hand on Adam’s shoulder with a sigh. “See? You’re too damn good, Adam. God would be  _ completely  _ off Her trolley to let someone like you end up in Hell.”

Adam smiled at the ground before lifting it to Crowley. “Thanks mister Crowley.”

Crowley winced visibly. “Just Crowley is fine. ‘Mister Crowley’ is a Black Sabbath song.”

Adam made a face that told Crowley he had no idea what ‘Black Sabbath’ was, but it was a pleasant sort of confusion that also said ‘thank you for listening to me; I will humour your attempt at a dated joke by not responding in any way that forces you to explain the joke to me and demean yourself’ which was just swell of the boy. Crowley patted his shoulder again and directed him back to the door. It was time to get back inside and out of the cold.

Slow music was playing and everyone was standing in the living room when they reentered. Newt had wandered back in from another room only to be swept up into some kind of instructional lesson being given by Pepper. Apparently she’d given up on her furious retribution in favour of other pursuits. Anathema was watching with lip-bitten amusement, already having been positioned by Pepper with Wensleydale, holding his hand and bracing the other on his shoulder.

“You take my hand and put your feet there. No, there. Right there.” Pepper was shuffling Newt’s feet for him. “Okay. Now you take my hand.”

Newt did as he was told, but gave her an apologetic smile. “You know, maybe you should use someone else? I’m rather tall, I can’t reach your waist.”

Pepper arched a brow up at him, looking simultaneously puzzled and offended. “Well you’re not  _ leading.” _

Newt blinked and seemed to shrink under her stare. “A-...Ah. Well that’s all right then.” And his hand landed obediently on her shoulder. Anathema was close to bursting with laughter.

Pepper glanced around after Newt was finally in position and spotted Crowley and Adam’s return. “Oh good! Adam, Brian doesn’t have a partner.”

Crowley gave Adam an encouraging smile as the boy tugged his hands from the safety of his pockets and went to Brian as asked. They engaged in a short round of Rock, Paper, Scissors to see who lead (with Brian as the victor), and Crowley moved to Aziraphale-- the only one left without a partner. “I leave for fifteen minutes, and you’ve gone and let them instigate another Strasbourg.”

Aziraphale chuckled and swatted at his shoulder. “I did nothing of the sort.” He gestured to Pepper, who’d left her partner momentarily to go to Adam and Brian and make sure they were in the right position. “Apparently there’s a ‘first dance’ that takes place in weddings between the couple. After which, everyone else is encouraged to join. Pepper is going to teach us how.”

Crowley grimaced. “Oh, I’ll dance for you, angel, but I don’t know that you’d want me to do it in front of a crowd.”

“Well I do have a little experience with dance, I’m sure it’ll translate.”

The demon allowed himself to smile again and slid a little closer to Aziraphale. “Mm, you wouldn’t steer me wrong then.”

The response was Aziraphale slipping his arm around Crowley’s waist and pulling him close. “I certainly hope not.” 

Aziraphale’s free hand snagged his, and Crowley felt a pleased sigh escape. He lifted his other hand to the angel’s face, running his thumb along his cheek. “You would never.”

“Hey! Hand on his shoulder, Crowley!” Came Pepper’s command from across the room.

Crowley winced and his hand snapped to where it was meant to be. “Yes ma’am!”

Aziraphale turned an amused guilty grin between them, and Crowley met it with an enthralled, loving one. He let his thumb move along Aziraphale’s collar as Pepper called out instructions. “I can’t wait to be married to you,” Aziraphale said, letting his feet lead. “Was Adam all right?” He kept his voice low, so as not to interrupt the lesson.

“That may be a discussion for later on. He’s fine, I promise.”

“Good. I thought he looked a bit nervous.”

Crowley pouted. “What, you didn’t buy that he has cool things planned for the wedding?”

Aziraphale leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Crowley’s nose. “Not for a second.”

“I always did have trouble lying to you.”

“It’s very becoming.”

“What, the inability to lie?”

Aziraphale laughed, spinning them around once. “No, darling.  _ Honesty.” _ He leaned in and broke form, letting both his arms slide around Crowley’s thin waist as he brushed his nose over his tattoo. Crowley’s eyes grew soft behind his sunglasses and he wrapped his arms around his neck.

“Aren’t they doing it wrong?” Asked Brian, from where he was shifting foot to foot with Adam.

“I don’t think it matters if it’s the grooms,” Anathema said. “It’s their wedding, I think they can get away with dancing however they want.”

A few hummed noises of agreement filled the room, and Pepper went back to instructing everyone else. Crowley shut his eyes and leaned his head against Aziraphale’s, letting the angel sway them back and forth. It was as if the others didn’t exist. For a moment, it was just an angel and a demon and a soft song guiding their feet.

For a moment, he could forget about God’s silence and the heavy weight of doubt.

For a moment, everything was going to be okay.

For a moment.

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Friday the 13th everybody! What a great day to post a chapter in a fic tagged with 'Murphy's Law' am I right?
> 
> Also, this is gonna be five chapters, not four like I'd thought, so I went from having three chapters to complete to having three chapters to complete, haha, sounds about RIGHT.
> 
> Yay me. C':

**Author's Note:**

> Don't mind me.


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